Benny the Butcher, Rick Ross - Where Would I Go lyrics

Hit-Boy where would I go?
You know real (Where would I go?)
Real big boss shit (Where would I go?)
Distinguished gentleman shit
Real street nigga shit, yo

Jumped in the game feet first and
I paid for my actions
Hospital stays, laid up, related to asthma
And all I knew was chase
Paper in a dangerous fashion
Them boxes came to my crib with
My name on a package mama, I made it
Rose petals and gold Chevelles ask the team
We all cop gold bezels at those levels
It's on my wrist and as well as my hip
It's cold metal
This kinda game only run through your
Veins and your bone marrow
It cost me, they tell me, "Be humble"
They think I'm flossin' shit, I probably am
I got this out the concrete
I stood in front of buildings
Sold dope brown as coffee wearin' Barkleys
I just parked the 740 by a palm tree
(That's real shit)
Stuck to the plan from out the sand
Get rich and share it when you a dope boy
This the life that your bitch inherit
She wanna fuck me on a yacht
And take a trip to Paris
I buy her expensive shit and
She forget to wear it
Big dough when you thought of my block
I bought a brand new pistol when
I thought of the opps
I had the money on the roll
'fore the water got hot
And I still remember who owe
'case y'all thought I forgot
The Butcher comin', nigga

It's the biggest (M-M-M-M, where would I go?)
Niggas desire to fit in, I was invited
(Where would I go?)
Pistol whipped a few niggas, I was indicted
(Where would I go?)
When you face a few years
It's time to fight it
I shoot the prosecutor right back
Johnny Unitas perry Mason, Gary Payton
The double M nigga, I live amazin' (M-M)
Dope boy alumni, such a classy unit
All double R's at the class reunion
Pistol heavy, the money bagger
The bitches at me, up the ladder
Franchise, it's rappers that can't size us
Bitches flew out of state
Just to stand beside us
For a selfie, that boy wealthy
Four floor condos, that nigga selfish
Waterfalls and all, deep in the cells
I speak with my heart, I rarely talk a lot
Went from Ford to Ferrari
Look at the parkin' lot
Seatbelts never, that's a common law
'Cause when the shots fired
Fat boy hoppin' out
It's time to explain just
What your songs 'bout
'Cause when your homie got shot up
You cut your phone off
Only way I go is where I wanna be
My niggas all on top, it's what I wanna see
My kids in the mansion
It got a hundred rooms
Playin' hide and seek for weeks
What you wanna do?
Always talkin' coke and man, I sold the most
'Til all my niggas broke
Belaire Rose we toast
Always keep your word and
Keep your mama close
You ride for your brother
Teach your son the ropes
You never want it back
A blessing get the most
That Rolex on your wrist
Don't let it cost your soul
(Cost your soul, cost your soul)

M-M-Maybach Music